


The Image of the Father

by thelivingbird



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Gen, Headcanon, Period-Typical Racism, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21578692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelivingbird/pseuds/thelivingbird
Summary: Exploring my headcanon for a Punjabi Asriel through the perspectives of Asriel, Lyra, Marisa, and more."The first time Asriel held his daughter in his arms the only thing he felt was terrified [..] Of course, Lyra was hardly the first, and wouldn’t be the last, but the circumstances were painting a beaming red target on all three involved."
Relationships: Lord Asriel & Lyra Belacqua, Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter, Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter, Lyra Belacqua & Original Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 99





	1. Asriel

Faith was never important to Lord Asriel Belacqua. He would never swear his loyalty to a god or even his own family. What was important to Asriel, was spite and pissing people off. There were no people Asriel liked pissing off more than the Magisterium and their mindless followers.

The rest of his family elected to adapt to their new country, even going so far as to change their last name and keep any practice of their religion to the privacy of their own home. It was an easy choice for the Belacquas. It was, after all, Brytain who gave them their aristocratic titles. Why would they stay in a country being torn apart only to lose their wealth and status? His family packed up in the dead of night on their way to an island they had never step foot on. Asriel was hardly two years old. Not old enough to form any concrete memories, but he could swear he remembered his mother holding him to her chest and covering his face so as not to see the bodies at the side of the road.

After arriving in Brytain, the Belacquas adapted so well that for the first few years of Asriel’s life he didn’t know he was any different from the other citizens of Brytain. It wasn’t until he encountered his school tormentors that he noticed the divide.

He found the one book in the library that could give him information about his family’s culture and studied those pages obsessively. It was obscenely biased, but after some arm twisting, Asriel was able to get some clarity from his nanima who was less inclined to forget the family’s ties to India. A week later, Asriel arrived to school with a turban on his head and a Kirpan dagger at his side. The letters from concerned parents and the chagrin of his own were nothing against his own stubbornness. The settling of his daemon Stelmaria into a snow leopard was great help to Asriel’s resolve. It wasn’t long until the other students, including his own bullies gave up on breaking him down. While the sly comments never stopped, few would dare to say them to Asriel’s face.

This resolve would prove beneficial to his reputation as a Lord and an adventurer. The young man who would dare to go where others would not and who could break social conventions when others could not. Notability was value, but the Magisterium was already waiting for the moment they could put him away and throw away the key. Asriel never felt more like himself.

He was dangerous to be connected to due to his ideals, but always a point of interest. It didn’t bother him to be invited into spaces he was otherwise unwelcome in because of his risqué reputation, for at the end of the night with enough drinks he would be able to get his way into more spaces that would have otherwise been forbidden to him. It was at one of these events, a conference, that Asriel recognized a kindred spirit.

At a glance, there was nothing to note. A wife holding onto her husband’s arm to help sell him to his colleagues, but Asriel saw the way her eyes were darting around the room, measuring the price of everyone’s head. When her eyes fell on him a curious look flashed across them. She smiled and turned back to her husband. Asriel didn’t realize he was smiling too until he found his feet approaching her.

“Lord Asriel?” Her husband spoke first, “I wouldn’t expect to see you here. I thought you had nothing but disdain for these sorts of things.”

“Of course, I do. But I like my disdain to be based on fact. I have to know what you lot are talking about for me to disapprove of it. And I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.” He looked at the woman as he reached out for the man’s hand.

“Edward Coulter, and this is my wife, Marisa Coulter.”

“Pleasure to meet you both.” Asriel saw Marisa fidgeting at her wedding ring, taking a moment to look at her sideways, “Forgive me, but are you recently married?”

Still, it was Edward who kept speaking, “Uh, yes, two months.”

“Congratulations. But it seems you are in need of getting your wife’s wedding band refitted.” Asriel couldn’t help himself at making the man squirm. And this was the supposed progressive of the Magisterium. He put in effort to make resting his hand on his Kirpan look absentminded. It was delightful to see Edward’s eyes flick to the dagger.

He said his goodbyes, casually drifting off into other conversations, but always keeping sight of Marisa in the corner of his eye. He could see she was doing the same.

“Why do you wear it? The way you speak, you sound as if you have little concern for any sort of god.” She asked him the first time they were alone together.

“Oh, I do,” Asriel’s eyes drifted off, genuinely thinking, “But I want to let them know I’m not theirs. I never was, or will be.”

She laughed, “So it’s only spite.”

“Yes and no. It is who I am and who my family is. My parents came here not because they wanted to, but because their home was destroyed. Brytain cut their country at the jugular and left it to bleed out on its own. Besides, even if I didn’t wear the turban it wouldn’t change my skin. And the dagger, well I like the way it looks,” he said, “And I like how it easily it frightens the likes of your husband.”

He felt her hand on his cheek pulling him to face her again, “You enjoy your obstacles.”

“Maybe I do.” Asriel felt for her hand. The ring on it still too loose. _It was better for everyone to stick to one’s own_ , Asriel remembered his father telling him. He could hear the party going on just on the other side of the wall. For the first time, Asriel took a step back.

Marisa furrowed her brows, “What is it?”

“As fun as it’s been discussing our work, debating really, I think this a thought that should be entertained only as a thought. I’m not interested in being a line of gossip for you to trade with your friends.”

“If I was out to hurt you, I would do something better than whisper some words over tea. But if you’re afraid of me, then go back to the party.” She was challenging him, embarrassing him. Her daemon approached Stelmaria who couldn’t help but lean down to his touch. Asriel didn’t say anything. He just straightened his back and stood ever so still. Marisa took one step towards him. “What I think, is that you like me and while I find your ambitions… questionable… I can’t help but enjoy your company,” her tone changed, “Then again, I don’t so much enjoy this timid side of you. Perhaps I was wrong.”

Marisa turned on her heel, her monkey following behind. Stelmaria let out a growl at the sudden change and Asriel couldn’t help but clench his jaw. Just as she was about to step back into the glow of the party, Asriel pulled her back to him and kissed her again and again and-

Marisa’s hands were moving slowly. Asriel kept his eyes closed feeling the weight on his head becoming lighter and lighter with every passing moment. He was keeping his breathing even. It wasn’t as if no one before had seen him without his turban, but his heart was beating faster than he would like. Then he felt hands going through his hair.

“It’s short,” her voice sounded genuinely confused, “I thought Sikhs weren’t allowed to cut it.”

Asriel let out a laugh, an uncontrollable deep belly laugh. He recalled a Hindu woman from his college days having a remarkably similar reaction. He finally opened his eyes to see Marisa looking annoyed.

“Don’t laugh at me. It’s reasonable to be surprised, isn’t it?”

“Well I keep my beard trimmed, don’t I?” Asriel returned the favor and ran his hands through Marisa’s hair, “I could grow out to this length if you would like.” She pushed him away but he held on. “I know it’s jarring. Seeing a full head of hair considering your dear Edward is already balding.”

She moved fast, grabbing the Kirpan and putting it to Asriel’s neck, “Be careful,” She said with a smile, “You’re getting into bed with the Magisterium.” He put his hand around hers, both of them holding the dagger. He wondered if this was a game to her. A way to get in a thrill, already bored by married life. Maybe she already had an affair and now she needed to bring another dangerous element into the mix.

He wanted to be able to leave this room with her. Be seen with her outside of stolen moments in conversation. Rest his arm on the back of her chair, hell, even just be able to sit close to her or hold her hand if he ever felt so inclined. This was his country too. He was a Lord in it. Why was he still on the outside?

The dagger was lowered and put to rest on the bedside table, “Where did you go?”

“Nowhere,” Asriel took her face in his hands, “Nowhere.”

He went still again. Instead, Marisa put her hands around his wrists and then gently moved up his arms as she leaned in coming in close enough that their lips were touching, “It’s only us in here.” Outside there was a world to be afraid of, but here…

Asriel’s heart beat turned into a hum. He let himself go. At points he was worried he was holding onto Marisa so tight they might become tangled together forever, but Marisa only sighed and asked for more. They were greedy in those days, and free to be so.

They walked along the river. The light of the moon reflecting off the water, lighting their path. It was dark out and they could move together without much worry. They walked in silence. It wouldn’t be long until they reached the edge of the Coulter property and there was too much to say in that time.

“It may not be mine,” it came out crueler than he meant it to. It was meant to be a reassurance. _Your child will be safe_.

“Perhaps,” Marisa whispers back, “Perhaps not.”

On the other side of the river there was a celebration. They could hear singing. Silhouettes danced, backlit by the fire. Without thinking, Asriel stopped walking to stop and stare at the scene.

“What are they saying?” Marisa asked.

Asriel’s eyes fell to the ground, “I don’t know. I never learned. Hard to learn a language on your own and my parents would never speak it with us.”

“But they’re your-“

“They’re afraid of us. We traded them for our titles. Being Lord Asriel came with a price.” He turned back to look at Marisa. He didn’t expect her to say anything. How could she? “We’ve spent too much time out here.”

Marisa nodded. They started walking again.

“You can’t make me go through this alone. We have to be ready. In case.”

Asriel just nodded in the dark. She wasn’t wrong. But maybe the baby, even if it was his, would take its looks from Marisa. Though could Asriel accept his child being raised by Edward? Maybe that more than anything made the wheels in his mind turn. The music continued to follow Asriel even as the lights faded from view.

“It’s a Sangeet, by the way. Someone over there will be getting married soon.”

The first time Asriel held his daughter in his arms the only thing he felt was terrified. She had too much of him in her. _His_ deep brown eyes, _his_ black hair. She was fairer than him and had her mother’s English nose, but it was still there practically stamped across her forehead. This was called child abuse according to the law, considered a cruelty to bring a mixed-race baby into the world. Of course, Lyra was hardly the first, and wouldn’t be the last, but the circumstances were painting a beaming red target on all three involved.

He doesn’t have time to react. He just has to hide her, keep her safe. One day she would grow too big to be contained by his estate, but by then he’d be ready.

The Magisterium was ready too, practically frothing at the mouth when the truth came out. The creeps were lurid in their detail of this brown man taking one of _their_ women to bed forcing her to bare one his kind. Of course, custody was never even considered. Lyra would be sent away to a nunnery far away from her Asriel. And he would be stripped of his money and his land and his dignity. 

There was a camera allowed into the court the day Asriel had to give up his turban to the Magisterium. They would call him a fake and imposter. Instead of bowing his head, Asriel turned looking for a pair of eyes who had seen him bare before. He would later learn that she was in hiding and allowed to give her testimony in private. In a way, he admired her ability to still be able to twist these men even now, but his heart turned against her.

As for his family, Asriel could hardly fault them for what they did. By then his only ally that understood and supported him, his nanima, had passed. Asriel alone made the decision to cross a line, how could he expect the rest of the Belacquas just to follow him over? Knowing this didn’t lessen the burn when his letters were sent back to him, unopened.

When they asked for his Kirpan he shrugged his shoulders stating that he threw it into the river after cutting Coulter’s neck with it. They couldn’t find it as they tore apart his home. They couldn’t find it on Thorold either. They finally had to believe that he did sacrifice it to the water. In reality, he simply left it _near_ the water with Ma Costa. When the Great Flood came Asriel retrieved it from the woman and tucked it into Lyra’s blankets as he handed her over to the Master of Jordan College. If he couldn’t have it anymore, it would belong to her when the time came.

Asriel’s visits to the college became less and less frequent. Lyra moved through her little world unburdened completely unaware of the eyes on her as she ran around the college. She didn’t understand the envy in his eyes when she shrugged off the children who didn’t want to play with her, thinking nothing of it. She didn’t understand why Asriel pulled his hand away when she tries to hold it or why he slowly stopped talking to her about their family or sharing the food he eats. Or why he suddenly asked her to stop calling him her “Chachaji” and switch to “Uncle.”

It would just be easier for her, Asriel thought, if she only took after her mother.

Not that any of it matters, he had much to do. Maybe when his work was done, he’d take her back and explain everything. But that won’t be for a long time. The world was simple for Lyra, and Asriel had neither the time or the patience to take that away from her.

So, his plans grew and solidified. He disappeared to the north once again, things finally picking up momentum. He felt completely back in control and finally back to himself. And then Lyra showed up with his Kirpan in her hand. She told him she knew the truth and about her time with her mother and the horrors of Bolvanger. He tried to picture Marisa walking around London with their girl. Showing her off. Proud.

He told Lyra about the Magisterium, explained why they needed to be destroyed, why they can’t be free until he rids the world of them. He thought Lyra understood, but she still radiated that sense of weightlessness about her, despite everything she had just been through. Lyra’s face fell when she saw Stelmaria pull away from Pan. Asriel quickly sent her to bed, eager to get his work done and thankful for the boy his daughter brought to him.

Asriel knew he had made an enemy out of God when Marisa found her way back into his arms right before he is supposed to leave this world. There were tears in her eyes and he almost believed she is capable of feeling a sense of regret. He kicked himself when he asked her to come with him. The woman really can manage to keep her foot in any door before letting it close.

“I can’t. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”

His blood boiled, “I know better than anyone. Certainly, better than you. Look at me.” He pushed his own hood back. She flinched.

Marisa’s eyes went to the ground, “They shouldn’t have done that to you.”

“At least Lyra has my Kirpan.” Before this moment he had regretted passing down the dagger to his daughter, but it had become worth it only to see the surprise and fear in Marisa’s eyes.

“If anyone found it on her-“

“Or if you did? What would you have done? What will you do now? This is the last time I ask.”

Marisa gathered her daemon in her arms, straining at his resistance. Asriel pulled Stelmaria away and walks into the warm light of another world.

The first world he entered buzzed with life and people without daemons. Asriel had to find a place to hide. He ducked into an alleyway and took a moment to orient himself. He’d have to go somewhere else unable to move freely with Stelmaria at his side.

From where he stood, he saw a family with children with a mix of features from both parents. Asriel tried to peak around to see if anyone was staring, but found he was the only one. He even found other families and individuals. He saw a young girl who looked like his Lyra holding her father’s hand. Asriel looked away and made plans to move forward.


	2. Lyra

She noticed. He didn’t realize how much she noticed, but under her bed, Lyra kept a record of when her dear Uncle Asriel visited. The gaps of time away get larger and the length of the visits get shorter. Lyra knew her uncle got upset when she asked too many questions, although she didn’t know exactly why, she knew she wanted to keep him in a good mood because when things were good, they were so good.

Asriel told her stories of the north, he taught her how to fight, and once or twice he stayed by her side until she fell asleep, though he thought she didn’t know. On one of her birthdays he even cleared out the kitchen of Jordan College and he taught her how to make her own paranthas and daal.

“Mothers are supposed to pass down culture, but I’ll try my best.”

They stayed up and Lyra told her uncle about the time she stole a Gyptian boat. Asriel reprimanded her, but she noticed the smile creep across his face. Of course, he would never talk about the other Belacquas and gave few details about her father. Though in these rare moments, she got glimpses.

“It sits nearly completely surrounded by water,” her uncle’s gaze drifted off as if he could see it right in front of him.

“The Goodwar-“

“Gurdwara,” Asriel laughed, “Yes. There’s nothing like it.”

“Will you take me?”

“One day.”

Lyra continued to try to sound out the unfamiliar word. She added it to the collection in her mind that she would practice as she drifted off to sleep.

She was desperate to know more, but she would never risk pushing him away.

Turns out she didn’t need to do much for that to happen anyway. She would later have trouble sleeping most nights wondering what she did that could have upset her uncle so much.

The last time she saw him was her ninth birthday. Asriel had taken her out to town for a special treat. Thorold drove them from the college, and the whole ride over her uncle was close, but the moment the car stopped he distanced himself. She tried to reach for him again when they started walking but he kept his hands clasped behind his back. Finally, she forced her arm through his, to loop them together. Even now, re-examining the occasion she couldn’t understand why he turned his head down and kept his eyes cast to the ground.

“They’ll think I’m kidnapping you,” he tried to laugh, but something indecipherable to her then drifted across his face. She didn’t know how to ask him what he meant.

Over dinner he kept asking her questions about her tutors and when she evidently failed to give satisfactory answers, Asriel just fell silent. Her big dinner out with her uncle and she ruined it. When they returned to the college, Asriel went to talk with the Master, surely to assign more reading. Lyra stayed up waiting for him to come say goodnight to her. She must have fallen asleep before he got the chance.

When he didn’t return for her tenth birthday, Lyra broke down.

“Will you write him? Please, tell him I’ve been studying. I’ve been good.”

The Master pressed his lips together, “This has nothing to do with you, Lyra. Your uncle is only just… well, his work is very important to him. I’m sure he will make it up to you soon.”

“He’s never been gone this long,” Lyra was picking at the skin around her thumbnail. Pantalaimon had tucked himself on her shoulder, whispering reassurances in her ear.

The Master sat down so he could be eye level with the young girl, “I’ve asked the cooks to prepare your favorite.”

Lyra frowned, “I want my uncle’s food.”

“Yes, I gave them the recipe. It should be prepared just the way you and he both like it.”

But it wasn’t, as it never can taste quite the way the person who cooked it for you first makes it. Lyra still knew well enough to smile and say thank you, but the unhappiness showed in her eyes.

“We can go outside the college,” Roger said, “I can call the rest of the boys.”

But Lyra’s mood wouldn’t turn, “They don’t like to play with me. They call me names.”

“They’re teasing.”

“No, they en’t,” Lyra held Pan a little tighter.

After the dinner, Lyra was sulking in her room stuck in another restless night. She found herself in the mirror. Her eyes were like his. Her eyebrows were bushy and thick like his. Seeing her features reflected in her uncle always brought Lyra joy. It was the face of family, but maybe not enough for him. After all, there were plenty of points where they differed. Places where Lyra resembled the likes of Roger more than her uncle. Perhaps this displeased him. Perhaps they were too different and perhaps it wasn’t enough?

Then Lyra met Mrs. Coulter. The most wonderful, fascinating, intelligent woman Lyra had ever met. Best of all she seemed genuinely interested in what Lyra had to say and wanted her around, going so far as to ask her to accompany back to London.

The Master had pulled Lyra aside before her departure. There was something off, he was fidgeting and on edge. He gave her a strange device urging her not to tell Mrs. Coulter about it, though Lyra couldn’t imagine why. He also gave her a second farewell gift. It was a small dagger, but Lyra had never seen anything like it.

The Master held it delicately in both hands, “It was your uncle’s Kirpan.”

“His what?” Lyra took the dagger from him. She examined the details of it. It looked more expensive than practical, “Is this Stelmaria on the hilt?”

“Yes, it is.”

Lyra smiled as she ran her hands over the carving, “Is this a secret too?”

“I’m afraid so,” the Master sighed, “It is very valuable. There are many people who would be eager to take it from you and your uncle.”

“Why didn’t he take it with him?

“He intended it for you and now it appears to be time to entrust you with it.”

All Lyra knew was that this and the alethiometer were important. The dagger was her uncle’s and he wanted her to have it. That alone was reason enough to keep the secret, for whatever reason it needed to be kept. Lyra packed a small bag, tucking her treasures away and she was off.

In London, clothes were specifically designed for Lyra. She stood in front of a mirror after one of these dressings and Lyra tried to imagine she could resemble Mrs. Coulter one day. Even in a flat of beautiful things, Mrs. Coulter somehow managed to outshine them all.

She was taken out in public all over the city, introducing Lyra to her friends who were very interested and eager to meet her. Mrs. Coulter would never pull her hand away. She couldn’t wait to write to her uncle about this latest adventure. Mrs. Coulter gave Lyra a fancy pen and some stationary. That evening, they rested by a warm fire with hot cups of chocolatl. Pan was laid out in the form of a cat taking in the heat. Mrs. Coulter’s monkey sat behind him, watchful as ever. As Lyra started to fall asleep, she thought that if it wasn’t for the north, she could stay there forever.

Things started to shift after the morning the visitors came. Lyra stepped out of her bedroom, only to be greeted by the anger of that golden monkey. He grabbed Pan and pulled him back into the bedroom, forcing Lyra to follow.

Mrs. Coulter stood in the doorway with her jaw clenched, “Lyra. I’ve received some unexpected guests, and breakfast will have to wait. Do not come out until I let you out. Have I made myself clear?”

Lyra’s eyes remained fixed on the golden monkey who looked ready to pounce. She nodded. The door slammed shut. Naturally, Lyra immediately pressed her ear to it, listening for any clues as to what was going on. She guessed that two, maybe three men had entered the apartment. A door opened and closed.

“No good listening now,” Pan said.

Lyra put her hand on the handle, “If they went into another room…”

“Lyra, no!” But she was already out the door tiptoeing to another. She had gone to two doors in the apartment, pressing her ears against each one trying to find the one Mrs. Coulter and her guests had gone into. Then a voice interrupted her espionage.

“Who exactly are _you?_ ” He said. His eyes seemed hollow as he stared down at her.

Lyra stood up straight, trying to look more formal and confident in her pajamas, “I’m Mrs. Coulter’s assistant.”

The man grinned, “I didn’t know she took on an assistant. Where did she find you?”

“Oxford. Jordan College.”

“Jordan college takes on such young female scholars? How did a child such as yourself end up in the care of those men?” There was amusement in his face, and although Lyra didn’t fully understand it, she knew it made her quite angry.

Lyra spoke with a prouder tone, “My uncle. Lord Asriel.”

“Lord Asriel Belacqua,” The man took his time sounding out each word, “Mrs. Coulter does have her unique tastes, doesn’t she?”

“Lyra!” Mrs. Coulter shouted, “I thought I told you to stay in your room.”

“The child and I were just getting to know one another,” The man remained unfazed by the interaction. Lyra, however, quickly rushed back to her room. Mrs. Coulter’s glare remained on her until the door was fully closed.

Pan took the form of a mouse and climbed to Lyra’s shoulder, “I didn’t like that man, Lyra, I didn’t like the way he looked at us.” Lyra didn’t respond, she just held tight.

She tried to find an explanation for what happened behind those close doors. Surely those men must have done something to start a change in Mrs. Coulter. Her mood turned sour and made no sign of returning to the former kind woman Lyra thought she knew. She became more controlling, critical, and unhappy with Lyra.

Lyra felt as if she found herself under a magnifying glass and she was beginning to burn. She needed to get out. Fast.

When she learned the truth about her parents Lyra felt herself lose the anchors she thought secured her identity. She knew that her mother was white before, Asriel told her so, but to know exactly who her mother was… told a different story. She had thought her parents intended to raise her together, not that she was quickly done away with the moment her mother doubted she would grow up to pass as Edward Coulter’s child. She was forced to reexamine every word and gesture looking for clues. Lyra knew of other children like her, but they were all servants. Evidently, some didn’t take so well to her aristocratic parents having her. Lyra found herself in front of a mirror again. Looking for her father. Looking for her mother. Seeing both and neither at the same time.

The Gyptians were warm and welcoming, but Ma Costa was right, Lyra would never be one of them. Still, on the journey she allowed herself to feel at home. It was easy to keep her mind distracted with all these interesting people.

She enlisted the likes of Lee Scoresby and Iorek Byrnison and they told her stories of adventure and war. They protected her and only after knowing her for such a short amount of time. They trusted her and she knew she could trust them. Yet, something in her gut refused to rest. Part of her was still afraid that these newfound relationships were going to sour.

But she still had Pan and for once he was the one daring her to jump and let these people care for her. So, Lyra did.

Lyra met one of her mother’s other creations in Bolvanger. It was a cold and uncaring machine that almost took Lyra and Pan if not for Mrs. Coulter’s intervention.

She was still in a daze, clutching onto Pan, as her mother loomed over her. She was trying to be warm, Lyra thought, as she stroked her hair. The doctors attempted to conceal their look of disgust as Mrs. Coulter kissed Lyra’s forehead. She could feel herself being lifted and carried somewhere else. She didn’t have time to worry about who or how, she just wanted away from that horrible machine.

“You’re mine, they can’t touch you again,” Mrs. Coulter whispered, “I promise. I promise.” It seemed as if the lights were getting darker and then Lyra drifted off to sleep.

Something was being shaken. Lyra’s eyes fluttered open and she saw the golden monkey examining a tin box from Lyra’s things. Mrs. Coulter still sat by Lyra’s side, but she watched her daemon. Though she must have noticed Lyra stir for her eyes quickly flicked back to Lyra’s and she imitated a smile. Lyra imitated one back.

“Mother?”

Mrs. Coulter flinched at the address before relaxing her shoulders, “Yes, Lyra?”

“I can help you if you are looking for something,” Lyra said as she tried to sit up.

Mrs. Coulter gently pushed Lyra back down, “That gift the Master gave you, do you still have it.”

Lyra looked back to the monkey, “It’s in your hands.”

Mrs. Coulter squinted, but her eagerness forced her off the bedside and towards her daemon who was now eagerly picking at the can. A flash and a scream later, Lyra sent herself up and out, anywhere but Bolvanger.

(The next day, Lyra would find a singular grey hair growing from her head. Even farther in the future when she is finally contacted by her own dadaji, the hair still retaining its silver color will be remarked upon. She will be told it means your mother has sent you a blessing.)

Lord Asriel seemed distracted, eyes drifting off as Lyra recounted the story that he demanded from her. He stared at her for a while after she finishes. Lyra felt stupid for thinking that she was somehow going to meet a different man. Although the title of father was new, this was still the same man who had been pushing her away. But she held out his Kirpan to him as a significant gesture. This surely would make him take her seriously.

He pushed the dagger away, shaking his head, “That thing caused me nothing but trouble.” Lyra knew enough after everything she had been through that he wasn’t talking about the blade in her hand.

“You en’t human, Lord Asriel. You can’t treat me like this.” She couldn’t help it as the words bubbled out of her. “Where am I supposed to go?”

Her father’s voice remained even, “You should be grateful for the life you were given.”

Lyra turned red. As if she didn’t was still completely ignorant. As if she didn’t feel the eyes that watched them over the years. The furrowed brows that stared for too long. That wasn’t supposed to matter. Surely a family would have been better than facing that alone, without explanation, without an ally. For once, Lyra became tongue tied, and she was sent off to bed before she got a chance to get the last word.

Her rage consumed her and it was enough of a delay before she found that Roger had disappeared from the house. She found him again only to hold him in her arms as the sky lit up above her.

Never so deeply before had Lyra felt so disconnected from a home and from people. Pan tugged at her attempting to get her attention. She took him in her arms to calm him. If they had failed to find the answer in this world, perhaps it would be in another.


	3. Marisa

Marisa Coulter took pride in being the only one to break into that power that was only given to such an exclusive club. She defied her sex and the laws of this world to get where she was, and knowing she would find rare public acknowledgement for any of her achievements, this fact was her own personal trophy.

She had heard of Lord Asriel, of course. She knew that his family had been important people back east and they had somehow managed to move their class standing from there to Brytain and had, according to those who had dealt with them, assimilated beautifully. Much better than the rest of their people, apparently. As for Lord Asriel, he seemed to delight in his difference and still manage to hold influence. She was fascinated.

So, when Marisa Coulter first laid eyes on the man himself, she smiled. When he approached, he was openly flirtatious with her and rude with Edward. Lord Asriel didn’t care who he was talking to, he had a power of will. Marisa enjoyed challenging this will in long, ultimately circular, arguments. He was an anarchist and trouble maker while she preferred to make her mischief with a gentler touch. They abhorred and adored each other all the same.

When Marisa began noticing her thoughts regularly drifting in the direction of Asriel she had to make a decision whether to act or cut ties immediately. Her daemon growled when Marisa started to consider the latter, though the former wasn’t so simple. She had enough sense to know that the divide between them or anyone else was built on fabrications and power plays, but she was still a woman of this world and the idea of breaking that divide made her fearful.

More and more moments were shared between them, she found herself naturally pulling conversations into dark corners, empty balconies, and shadowy hallways. She was letting herself want him. And it was fun. It was nice. Wanting for the sake of want. Marisa was waiting for him to make a move, but he was being too timid for her liking.

“What I think, is that you like me and while I find your ambitions… questionable… I can’t help but enjoy your company,” she began to move away from him to make as if she was returning to the party they were hiding from. 

As she turned away, she saw Asriel clench his jaw, then she felt his hand pull her back to him, “You have to start this. I’m not going to let you say I seduced you.”

“As if you could,” she kissed him, but pulled away quickly. His eyes remained closed. Marisa glanced to the ground and saw Stelmaria pressing the golden monkey to the ground with her paw. Marisa returned her attention back to Asriel and kissed him again. This time he kissed back.

Even to her, seeing Asriel without his turban on his head and Kirpan at his side he seemed naked while most of his clothes were still on. Marisa ran her hand through Asriel’s hair.

“What do you think?”

“You were more handsome with it on.”

Asriel smiled, “So cutting my hair was pointless.”

Marisa grabbed at the short ends, “Still enough to hold onto.” Asriel’s smile turned into a grin and then completely fell. His eyes glazed over. Marisa was reminded of all the moments of being looked through.

A burst of anger rushed through her and she shook him, “Where did you go?”

He snapped back to her, “Nowhere.”

His eyes lit up and he took the lead. Asriel grabbed the back of Marisa’s neck and pulled her towards him. His kisses were aggressive. She grabbed at his back in response and he just pushed her down on the bed climbing on top of her as he pulled off his own clothes as well as hers. He put his hands around her face again and looked at her for a moment before getting her sigh and a nod in response. Then he was at her neck, working his way down her body. Marisa relaxed into the attention.

The scratch of his beard against her upper thighs would redden her skin, but she adored it, “I’ll never speak to you again if you shave.”

Afterwards, reality slowly was settling back in. Marisa reached over to the nightstand to check her watch, only to be interrupted by Asriel placing a kiss between her shoulder blades.

“When do you have to go?” He kept his voice low, but the playfulness was gone.

She set the watch back down, “I can stay until morning, but I’ll be expected back by lunch.”

“Where did you say you were?”

“On pilgrimage.”

They both burst out laughing.

“I’ll take that as a glowing compliment,” Asriel lifted himself up on one elbow to get closer. Marisa knocked him back down, “Or not.”

“Why don’t you give it another try?”

It was foolish to hope. There was a chance the baby could be Edward’s, but the moment that girl came into the world it was over. Briefly, Marisa considered trying to pass the baby off as Edward’s, but she was kidding herself. The skin may have been fairer than Asriel’s, but it was a completely different tone than Edward’s or Marisa’s. And who could say how she would grow.

Marisa urgently sent word to Asriel. Edward was already on his way home from Geneva and would be back by dawn. Asriel arrived in the dead of night. He looked terrible. Only a few hours ago it was confirmed that he was indeed, a father, and now he had to find a way to hide and protect the child.

The baby was squirming in Marisa’s arms, her gaze was empty as she was lost in thought. Asriel sat by her side, but it wasn’t until he tried to take the girl from her arms that she really responded to the new movement.

Marisa handed her over quickly, “Have you named her?” He asked. Marisa only shook her head.

The golden monkey leapt off the end of the bed and whispered in Stelmaria’s ear. Stelmaria put her paws on Asriel’s knee to see the child, “Pantalaimon.”

The little daemon was blinking trying to take in his surroundings. As Asriel soothed the baby, Pantalaimon nuzzled by her neck drifting off.

“Pantalaimon and Lyra.”

Marisa’s voice broke, “Lovely.” She felt sick. For herself, for Asriel, and for Lyra. Even if they were able to hide her, what would become of her? Asriel could find her a good tutor, send her off to a university, and then? Who would take her as his wife? No aristocrat of her rank, surely. She would marry some miller’s son.

“I can take her back with me now. I’ll find a nurse for her. As soon as I can, I’ll send Thorold and we can figure out where to go from here.”

Marisa was silent. Her eyes emptying again. Her monkey returned to her side and even he seemed alarmed by her despondence. Asriel shifted where he sat.

He kissed her cheek, “It will be alright.” And he went off, carrying Lyra out the door and into the dark with him.

They had a few months before the inevitable happened. Asriel’s only saving grace was that he was protecting his daughter. The daughter that should never have existed. Marisa masochistically read the papers, obsessing over the details. He lost everything and was even publicly humiliated before they sent him off. Marisa didn’t help. She managed to tuck herself away into hiding from the public, but the Magisterium came all the same.

She told them, tears in her eyes, that she was seduced. She told them she felt dirty thinking about his hands on her, that she could only hope to become clean again. She told them that she didn’t want to see the child because it would fill her heart with too much guilt to look at her and that the best life she could have would be under the guidance of the nuns.

After the trial, Marisa received a bottle of tokay with the note, “For all you’ve done.” It was Asriel’s favorite. She didn’t flinch at his anger, but she couldn’t help the shock that came when she found out he had taken the child to Jordan.

It was years before Marisa was properly reintegrated with society. With those years she also practiced forgetting. It was easier than she expected. With the return of power, the less she thought of him and her. Though some people weren’t too keen on letting Marisa forget the past.

She was throwing a party at her new flat. A housewarming. There were explorers, academics, as well as the garden variety wealthy aristocrat. But as the night went on, people’s tongues were loosened by the champagne.

“It’s good to see you doing so well for yourself.”

“We were so very worried about you.”

“I see not _all_ the lords and ladies of London were invited.”

All of these comments Marisa could brush off with a practiced humble smile or shake of the head. Most people wouldn’t dare to press further. Most.

Marisa had slipped into her bedroom to refresh herself. Only a few seconds after she stepped into the room did she hear the door behind her click completely closed. “How long did it take to get your figure back, you look…”

Marisa turned around alarmed, “Excuse me, but I ask that you return to the rest of my guests, this is my private room.”

He only stepped closer, “My wife was untouchable for a year after our son was born. She still looks… well, you look even better than ever.”

She gritted her teeth, “Thank you. Now please-“ She could smell his breath.

“Such a shame,” she wanted to tear his eyes out the way he looked at her, “Asriel’s hands on this body. We’ve all talked about it, you know. What it must have looked like. Him grunting over you. Must have been terrible. Or maybe you prefer that sort? Do you, Marisa?”

“Get out.”

“You don’t like your own, is it? You wanted that animal all over you, _inside_ of you. Even let him put his bastard in your belly. It’s filth is what it is.” He grabbed her, “I’ll clean you up.”

She gently placed her hands on both of his, and ripped back a finger from each hand. The screams made her smile. Even better was watching him explain to everyone else, his wife, how he broke two fingers helping Marisa move a piece of furniture.

It didn’t help lessen the lurid comments made to her face. She knew they would always be whispered. Marisa tuned it out, kept her head down, and her mind focused. No more distractions.

Lyra was something that couldn’t be predicted. She was warm, trusting, and free. At first, Marisa didn’t see herself in the girl at all. She let herself see the Asriel in her and that thought brought her a reluctant sense of joy. Marisa kept brushing strands of Lyra’s hair back from her face just to get a chance to get another look at those brown eyes.

The girl was eager to start her adventure with Marisa and was initially attentive at lessons and tours. Marisa was attentive too, getting to know the young girl who enjoyed running along the roofs of Jordan college. She listened to her talk about her likes and dislikes, particularly the food her uncle would make her. Marisa had burned through several chefs in a week until their dishes were to Lyra’s liking. Her frustrations were pushed so far, Marisa wrote to the surviving Belacquas, asking for instruction. They sent word back without fuss or question, only asking for a recent photo of the girl in return.

One morning Lyra suddenly burst out comparing herself to Marisa. The outburst caught her off guard. She didn’t know how to talk to her daughter about these things. She had no experience to draw on. Though when Lyra pointed out their similar noses, it made her quiet. As if Marisa herself hadn’t already marked every place where she appeared on her daughter’s face by reflex.

She washed her hair and kissed her cheek before bed. Gradually, she allowed herself to take pleasure in the similarities between her and her daughter. In physical features and in traits. Her daughter was a natural liar, which enraged Marisa as well as impressed her. This girl could be extraordinary, if only she wouldn’t be so stubborn.

“Anyone like me, here?”

Marisa wanted to scold Lyra on the casual tone in such a place as the Artic Institute, but she held her tongue, “What do you mean?”

“You know,” she picked at her salad, “Has parents like mine.”

“I’m not sure.”

Lyra turned her attention back to her salad, “I’m not supposed to be here. These fancy people are all…”

“I understand, but that’s not necessarily true. What about your uncle? He’s one of our most-“

“I don’t fit in with my uncle, either.”

“How many women do you see here?” Marisa struggled.

Lyra looked around the room, the answer was obvious.

“Someone has to be the first, no?” Marisa leaned in, “Lyra, you can be extraordinary. It just takes application. I forged may way through these doors, you will too. But you will have an advantage.”

“Because I’ll have you?” she perked up.

“In every room there will be those that will belittle you. With my help they won’t lay a scratch on you. For you will have knowledge that they won’t.”

She didn’t even think to consider the next room Lyra would be belittled in would be the party Marisa herself was throwing and that it would be right in front of Marisa’s face.

Lyra was obediently serving the champagne to all of Marisa’s very distinguished guests. The guests, however, were not doing such a great job at hiding their stares. Marisa counted on Lyra’s naivete to not notice, or at the least, not take any of it as a negative.

One of the women reached out and pinched Lyra’s cheeks. Lyra look startled, but simply smiled and walked on. This was a wise decision on her part. For the woman, Marisa was going to have a word with her. She glided across the room, not letting urgency show in her step, and pinched the woman at the arm.

“Oh, dear!” she squeeled, “Excuse me, I didn’t see you there, Marisa.”

“Mrs. Coulter, please,” she smiled.

The woman clucked, “Are we still going by that? Even now that you’ve taken Lord Asriel’s girl in.”

“It’s still Mrs. Coulter, yes,” she spoke low, but powerfully.

From the corner of her eye, Marisa could see the woman’s entourage settling around them. Careful to keep this from becoming a scene and embarrassing both women, and certainly, Marisa thought, to try to put her in her supposed place.

“What are you two chatting about?” the first asked.

“Oh nothing, we’re just catching up.”

“I was just saying how adorable her little waitress is,” the woman said.

“Oh yes, isn’t she sight” the second smiled, “For years we’ve all been dying just to know what she looked like.”

Marisa felt a rush of blood to the head. She turned to see how close Lyra was. She was out of ear shot, and the empty tray meant she would be returning to the kitchen for a moment to refill. She waited until Lyra left the space and then Marisa turned back to the guests.

“I do think she takes after me.”

As if rehearsed, they all shook their heads. The woman who sparked this argument spoke, “Darling, none of us hold that whole mess against you anymore. I mean, who among us hasn’t at the least fantasized about those exotic bodies. I’ll even admit I was a little jealous you got to live out the fantasy. Don’t throw your life away by claiming the little mutt now.”

“I haven’t claimed anything,” Marisa sneered, “But, that ‘little mutt’ is under my care. So I ask you to watch your tone.” She could feel another brush off coming from her guests, but Marisa’s daemon had begun to growl and bare his teeth. They backed off just enough. Marisa distanced herself before creating a new headline in a paper.

She left the room fast enough to grab Lyra’s attention on her return route. Marisa picked up the platter and put it on a side table. “Enough of that. I free you from your duties.” She tried to laugh.

“Oh,” Lyra said, “Thank you, Mrs. Coulter.”

They stood their awkwardly for a moment, “Why don’t you go back to your room. Finish the book you’re reading. Once I get rid of all these people you can tell me how it ends.”

Lyra looked at her shoes, “Yes, Mrs. Coulter.”

Marisa grasped at her. She opened her mouth, perhaps to give some words of comfort or appreciation, but those would not come naturally. Instead she just brushed back Lyra’s hair and pushed her down the hall. She did take after Marisa a little, and maybe more if she could have more time with her.

Life had a way of being poetic. The next time Marisa would see her daughter would be under the blade of the machine she created. Lyra was screaming. Screaming for her mother. How did she know that? Marisa ran and pulled her out, taking her into her arms. She was so distraught she even let her Marisa hold her.

“ _Mother?_ ” One of the nurses asked.

Lyra heaved with another wave of sobs and Marisa immediately turned her full attention back, “Pan!”

“He’s still with you,” she kissed her temple, “I won’t let them touch you again. I promise. I promise.” 

The golden monkey held Pan in one of his arms. For the first time in who knows how long, Marisa let her daemon back into her arms so that he could return Pan to Lyra’s. On unsteady legs, Marisa lifted herself and her daughter up and carried them to her own private quarters.

She tried to lay Lyra down in the bed, but she was still shaking so much from the fear she wouldn’t let go. Marisa awkwardly rolled Lyra to her side so they could both lay on the bed, keeping her arms around her. The shoulder of Marisa’s sweater was getting soaked through with all the crying.

Marisa didn’t know which one fell asleep first, but what was important was that she woke up before Lyra. The alethiometer. Her daemon pounced out of bed and started searching the bag. Lyra stirred.

Marisa calmed her expression, “It’s alright. We’re together again.”

Lyra rubbed her eyes. She looked at her mother. She looked at the golden monkey. She forced a smile.

Of course, Lyra went back to Asriel, even after everything. Marisa tracked her up the snow to the peak, but then there was the terrifying, beautiful, beam of light.

“They’ll damn you for this.”

He wasn’t even startled, “What else can they take from me?”

She was ashamed of how quickly she ended up back in his arms, but she knew she was strong enough not to follow him. She had done it before and she could do it again.

“No, we can’t work. You and I.”

“You and I could take the universe to pieces and put it together again, Marisa!,” Asriel said, “Why would you take the girl in, why would you come up here, if you thought otherwise?”

“I can’t do anything for that girl,” Marisa whispered.

“Yes, I know.” Asriel stroked Marisa’s face. He didn’t speak with bitterness, though Marisa would have expected him too.

She had strayed from her path, lost more control, than she cared for. These past few months had sent her mind back into disarray, but she still knew who really had the power. She knew where security was.

“I can’t go with you.”

Asriel pulled Stelmaria away from the golden monkey, “You’re sending me off again. Alone.”

Marisa wiped the tears from her eyes, “You have a head start. Until I reach the bottom of the mountain.”

He didn’t say a word. Gone. She looked towards the sky. She pulled her hood back up and started the journey back. Marisa felt the judgmental eyes of a witness.


	4. Politics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News clippings that may or may not have been published during a particular affair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add some political context, but didn't want to intrude on the personal narratives in earlier chapters. So here we have clippings of important moments for Brytain. I tried my best to manage canon political structure while also being influenced by very real historical laws. This are written very gossip column-y, but I never claimed to be a journalist.
> 
> The character Dorothea Eilhart was created by ao3 user vivial, and can be currently seen in her ongoing work "In Hushed Whispers." Thank you, Effie, for lending me your character for a cameo in this chapter.
> 
> The character of Erik Belacqua is from another fic of mine considering if Asriel really had a brother. You can read about him and cleaning up his brother's mess in "Lyra's Uncle."

**COULTER PROPOSED DESEGREGATION: RADICAL IN THE CAPITOL**

An exclusive source from inside the king’s court has reported that one of the top advisors, Edward Coulter, has been whispering in the king’s ear about implementing integration measures on a nationwide scale. The king has never been one to make a statement on such matters, but due to his close relationship with Coulter many are wondering if this silence will soon be broken.

Coulter has a record of supporting motions within the government of Brytain that favor minority and women’s rights. Coulter’s wife has been known to dip her toe in politics from time to time, though her concerns have historically been interested in the experimental theology realm.

Currently, there is a bill that has been stalled regarding the abolition of exclusive clubs and institutes within Brytain. Coulter cites that many of these “members only” scenes have been used to keep the demographics homogenous. He claims that the call for “English only” membership is a bigoted one. By banning these what Coulter calls “restrictive” requirements, the most powerful and influential institutions can benefit from the diverse backgrounds of all citizens of Brytain. If Coulter successfully sways the king, it could very well be the push of the domino to desegregate the whole of the country.

Critics of Coulter’s suggest that the advisor is attempting to gain favor from the minority population of the country for a future political run. They also suggest that his support of the bill is purely symbolic. Those who aim to keep the exclusive membership reference the ability any citizen of Brytain has to petition an institute for membership. Lord Boreal cites the case of Lord Asriel who successfully found sponsorship to allow him access to the Arctic Institute. Lord Asriel is famously progressive, but may just become the symbol conservatives get behind to support the established system. 

A source close to the family has mentioned a rift between Mr. and Mrs. Coulter on the issue. While Mrs. Coulter has never made a public statement for or against integration, it has been said the lady of the house is far from comfortable with the idea. Another one of Coulter’s talking points tends to be his adoration for his wife, and if she goes against something, it is expected that he will be turned in time.

**GRAND OPENING: THE BELACQUA INSTITUTE**

In a stunning and shocking move, Lord Asriel of the Belacqua family has donated his expansive plot of land in Oxford to be a public institute of sciences for citizens of Brytain. The estate will be undergoing construction to be converted for its new purpose. Lord Asriel has faced some backlash from the local community claiming that the institute will become a site for religious minorities to flock to. Lord Asriel strongly denies those assumptions stating that the institute will be free of “any religious leanings” as well as open to anyone eager for knowledge.

The Belacqua family has declined to comment on Lord Asriel’s decision to give away his private estate in Oxford, leading the public to believe that this was an independent move on the young lord’s part. When questioned about this, Lord Asriel stated that the decision was, “an easy one” and that he will be able to maintain his comforts from his London home, the October House. He also hints at a large slate of events he already has planned to kick off the new year.

The Institute may be a warm welcome to many as the bill to open up the Arctic Institute, of which Lord Asriel successfully petitioned his own membership for, was unable to be passed. Many see Lord Asriel’s donation as a direct result of the king’s failure to speak in favor of desegregation.

The Belacqua Institute is slated to open by the end of the year. An advisor to the king, Edward Coulter is said to be celebrating the event alongside Lord Asriel.

The celebration appears to be a consolation as the politician’s latest proposal to give government funding for the construction of religious sites in London such as mosques, temples, and gurdwaras has failed. The proposal was quickly blocked, stating that only private citizens are allowed to fund such places of assembly.

**WOMEN’S TEA AT THE BELACQUA INSTITUTE: HOPE AMONG THE RUBBLE**

For the first time outside of any college, a women’s only event was held at the Belacqua Insitute to discuss the future of female scholars’ place in experimental theology. The keynote speaker at the event was Dorothea Eilhart, a member of St. Sophia’s college and now a member of the board at the institute.

Eilhart emphasized the important history of her alma mater, while also pointing out that while St. Sophia’s is held in a similar regard to Jordan College, the students are not presented with equal opportunities. The speech was a rather emotional one that roused attendees of the tea to stand and applaud when Eilhart finished her address with this sentiment, “In this room are some of the brightest and most innovative minds in the country, and yet we have been forced to work in service, in secret, or not at all. Progress has been stalled only because we have.”

A form was passed around the room gauging interest in an expedition made up entirely of women to go up north and make observations of the aurora. Though the expedition has yet to secure any significant funding, it came as quite a shock that Mrs. Coulter signed her name to the journey. Earlier, Mrs. Coulter was invited to speak at the tea, but had declined. Many speculated her presence was purely a symbolic effort to support her husband’s political goals.

A pall was cast over the event, for just a month before, the Belacqua institute suffered a great set back. The property took damage on the western wing of the building when a window was broken and a fire started in the main library. The fire spread quickly and the damage went into the very foundation of the building requiring the entire section to be rebuilt.

Local authorities have an open investigation, but no prime suspects have been identified in the case. Lord Asriel, the founder and primary financier of the institute intends to start on repairs immediately. When asked for a comment, Lord Asriel said that he is “unfortunately, not surprised” by the actions and claims that “backlash was inevitable.” The lord has considerable wealth to his name so the funds required to repair the institute should be no trouble.

In just a month, the institute boasted hundreds of members, many of which would not have had access to such a facility.

The Coulter family also plans to donate to the reconstruction of the institute. Edward Coulter has gained considerable support from minority communities in the past year as he has put his name to the efforts to promote equality in Brytain. It should be noted that the politician has come to the support of Lord Asriel in many of the actions he has taken as a private citizen. Lord Asriel denies any official partnership with the Coulter family.

While repairs are still finishing up at the institute, future events are still scheduled as planned. Lord Asriel’s younger brother, Erik Belacqua will be speaking on the present state of journalism at an event scheduled for the end of the month. As the Belacqua Institute likes to tout, all who are interested are welcome to attend.

**COULTER BRUTALLY SLAIN BY BELACQUA**

The world turns upside down! A champion for equality, Edward Coulter is slain by one of the very men he dedicated his life and career to fight for.

The brawl, it seems was inevitable, as the key character on the scene was neither Belacqua or Coulter, but a four-month-old baby girl. To understand the importance of this child, we must recount events from over a year before Lord Asriel brutally cut the throat of Edward Coulter.

Lord Asriel was introduced to the Coulters at the Arctic Institute at an event funding one of Belacqua’s expeditions to the north. Coulter was a major donor that evening. It was apparently not long after this evening that Mrs. Coulter began her affair with the man. The affair had been ongoing, some sources even claiming that Mrs. Coulter would spend long weekends away with him while claiming to go on pilgrimage. All the while, Coulter was unaware of what was going on in his own household.

It was some time into the affair before Mrs. Coulter fell pregnant with Lord Asriel’s child. The child’s existence goes against the anti-miscegenation laws still in place. Mrs. Coulter attempted to conceal the baby’s nature by sending her off with her father.

The discovery of this mixed child is what sent Coulter into a rage and to challenge Lord Asriel to a duel to defend the honor of his wife. The lord, however, was uninterested in a fair fight and slayed Coulter claiming that he was trying to kill his infant daughter.

The issue has been taken up by the high court who will consider the merit of Lord Asriel’s legal claim to defend his family. Mrs. Coulter is set to make a statement about the nature of her affair as speculation still runs rampant among the gossips of Brytain.

“LORD” ASRIEL IN NAME ONLY

Just as it felt that the case would never be closed, the end came swiftly for Lord Asriel. After countless testimonies and character witnesses, many were concerned the issue had reached an impasse. Just as Lord Asriel had legal right to defend his child, so too Edward Coulter had the right to defend the honor of his wife.

Though her testimony was not made public record, Mrs. Coulter is said to have offered no claim for the child and expresses deep regret for her actions. The Coulter family’s lawyers have alluded to her support for legal action against Lord Asriel. The final ruling came in a compromise. Lord Asriel has evaded arrest, but at the cost of almost all his considerable financial resources. He is to be removed from his own institute, control defaulting to board member, Dorothea Eilhart. The Belacqua family has relinquished rights over Lord Asriel’s properties.

Lord Asriel has also been forced to relinquish his possessions connected to his family’s Sikh religion. While Lord Asriel removed his turban before the court, he denied he had any knowledge regarding the whereabouts of the very dagger that brought him to this state. Custody of the child has also been denied, and with the lack of suitable alternative within the mother’s or father’s family, the infant will be put in custody of the church.

All this comes with the backdrop of a great debate happening in the political sphere as figures on both sides debate the merits and pitfalls of integration. Those against the movement are citing this case as evidence that Brytain is neither structured nor socially ready to abandon the laws that keep the country in order.

With Edward Coulter having been one of the loudest voices in support for integration, many are seeing a tragedy play out before their very eyes. Lord Boreal issued this quote: “While we didn’t always see eye to eye, I had great respect for Coulter. It is heartbreaking to see how his political ambition blinded him to the threat that was tearing apart his own household that would lead to the end of his life.”

**THE END OF ANTI-MISCEGENATION LAWS**

Seemingly out of nowhere, support for the end of this outdated practice has reached an all-time high, forcing government officials to flip their positions and overturn anti-miscegenation laws on a national level. For many years, the laws prohibiting marriage, and in some regions relations of any sort, between those of different racialized groups had been prohibited.

Some attribute the growing support to the growing demographic changes. Nearly a fifth of the population identifying with a non-white group. Institutes like the integrated Belacqua Institute have begun to pop up all around the country. The Belacqua Institute itself has lobbied hard against these laws as it has struggled to maintain a foothold in the mainstream of society ever since the Belacqua-Coulter scandal.

The institute released this statement:

“This ruling has been a long time coming. These laws have been a foot on the throat of everyone in the country. We cannot deny people’s right to marry who they wish, let alone the rights of any children of these unions. These children have existed longer than any nation, let alone any misguided and oppressive law. There is still a very long way to go in terms of true equality, but this is a step in the right direction. The Belacqua Institute remains committed to supporting any and all who are looking for opportunities that may be denied to them elsewhere.”

There is a sense of heartache within the statement, as many will remember that not long ago the institute’s founder, Lord Asriel, was stripped of his money and lands in part because of these very laws that prohibited his relationship and child with Mrs. Coulter. The child is to be ten years old this August.


	5. Agatha/Maganendra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delayed introductions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I think I'm long done with something and then I can't seem to help myself! It was fun yet difficult to imagine a character we know nothing about, let alone how she would interact with Lyra. I hope you enjoy!

Agatha Belacqua, born Maganendra, first saw her granddaughter in the flesh when the girl has recently celebrated her fifteenth birthday.

Agatha sat in the café waiting for Lyra sitting up a little straighter each time a girl rushed past. She found herself looking for a much younger child as her most recent reference was a photo of Lyra at eleven years old in a fancy dress. From the older photos her son’s servant Thorold sent some time after he disappeared, that did not seem to be her usual style to say the least.

“Pardon me.” Lyra stood behind Agatha in a set of fashionable trousers and blouse. The girl still looked small for her age and had yet to lose the baby face, but something around her eyes gave the impression that she had aged a great deal since the last photogram. “Are you Lady Belacqua?”

“Yes, please sit.” Agatha was so startled she couldn’t even stand up to properly greet her. She simply stared. She always thought the papers exaggerated when they said she took after Asriel. Looking at her now Agatha felt cold. She felt haunted.

“I was just sitting over there. I didn’t realize you were already here. I guess I was looking for someone dressed differently.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Hair just like her father’s. Agatha always thought he had such gorgeous dark hair. It troubled her tremendously that he spent so long covering it up.

She let the silence go on too long before stuttering into polite conversation again, “No apologies necessary. I’m afraid I dress very typically. I never shared Asriel’s need to attract attention.”

For a moment she thought Lyra looked disappointed or even angry. Agatha never knew the girl’s mother, but she imagined that expression came from her. It was as if Agatha suddenly lost the haunted feeling that crept up on her and had it replaced with the quieter unease of being presented with a stranger.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Lyra quipped while the waiter poured glasses of water. “I thought the rest of you were dead. Though, I seem to have a knack for stumbling upon secret relatives.”

“I wasn’t attempting to conceal myself.”

“I suppose I never knew you for a much more basic reason.”

Quick to anger. If Lyra wasn’t being so rude, the thought might have made Agatha happy.

“Lyra, dear, it simply wasn’t done in those days.”

“How much can change in fifteen years?”

“Everything,” Agatha snapped. “World orders can be turned upside down.”

Lyra smiled at that as she picked up her menu. “I think I’ll get some chocolatl.”

Agatha smoothed down her skirts before looking at her granddaughter again. “As far as your father’s family goes, it’s only me left. My husband died shortly after Asriel was declared dead. And I’m sure you noticed in your little investigation that I’ve lost a son before. So, I can promise you dear that there are no more relative surprises on my end.”

“I’ve already looked into my mother’s side. I have an uncle and another grandmother there.” Lyra spoke quietly.

“Have you met with them?”

Lyra took a shaky breath, “I don’t know if I ever will.”

Agatha had the impulse to reach out and touch the child’s forehead. Instead she clasped her hands together on the table. She spoke with her eyes downcast. “It is my life’s regret not aiding my son when he needed me. I raised him to be strong. To endure. I thought he’d be able to land on his feet and steady himself. Instead, he kept charging along.”

“You knew who he was, he was your son. How could you think that?”

“I made the false assumption that there was a limit for him. I thought losing your mother and being denied you would cause him to reevaluate the way he had been living.”

“You don’t know who your son grew into.”

“No, I don’t.” She was surprised that the words didn’t bring tears to her eyes. Perhaps, it was the proximity of the waiter. “Sir, excuse me.”

He didn’t even turn around. Agatha breathed slowly pacing herself. Lyra was eyeing her curiously once again.

She turned in her seat. “Excuse me, sir?”

The waiter turned to face Lyra almost instantly. Upon realizing that this girl was seated at the same table as the woman he just ignored, he had to take a moment to compose his face back into a neutral expression.

“What will it be, miss?”

Lyra glanced at her grandmother.

“Tea, please.”

“And I’ll have hot chocolatl.”

The waiter gave a nod and scurried away without a look at Agatha. Lyra blushed and once again tucked her hair behind her ear as she adjusted back into a relaxed position. A grey strand of hair reflected in the sunlight.

Agatha spoke impulsively, “It’s your mother’s blessing.”

“What?” Lyra furrowed her brows.

“I was only referring to the grey growing from your head. If it’s a singular one it means, ah, your mother sent you a blessing.”

Lyra found the hair as if by muscle memory. She looked ready to tug it out.

“Don’t! Leave it. It’s bad luck to remove it.”

Lyra let it go. “Did you know her?”

“No, but she wrote to us once while you were with her. Very polite woman.”

“Yes, she had great manners.”

Agatha knew only rumors, saw only clippings. Then she had her own notions about what sort of woman it would take to turn her son’s head let alone continue capturing him in her web even after their foolish affair destroyed their lives. She could only imagine the sort of mother that woman would make.

“She was very beautiful.”

“Everyone says that. I guess everyone wants to focus on the good of a dead woman instead of,” Lyra tapped her fingers along the table, “Nevermind.”

Still working on earning her granddaughter’s trust, Agatha did not make the assumption that she could pry further into the topic. The waiter returned with their drinks. It was the fastest service she had ever gotten.

Lyra gestured to the chocolatl, “I’m not sure I’m in the mood for this anymore.”

“I’m sorry if I-“

“It’s not your fault.”

Agatha took a sip of her tea. “Lyra, why did you ask me to come here today?”

“I didn’t think you’d respond. When you did, I was almost sure I wouldn’t come, myself.” The girl began to laugh. It was infectious and Agatha couldn’t help but smiling too.

Until this moment, Agatha didn’t realize that she had half-forgotten how young Lyra was. Twice orphaned in her short life. Once by deception and once in earnest. Agatha had a hand in one. She could’ve helped her granddaughter the second time, instead choosing once again to leave her be. In her younger days she would have been ashamed at this passivity.

“I’d like to know you, Lyra. I’m more than happy to tell you anything you want to know about our family, about your father. If that’s what you want.”

The pine marten daemon peaked his head out over the table. Agatha didn’t even realize her condor daemon hadn’t greeted him. The powerful bird bowed its head. The pine marten matched him.

“I don’t like talking about my father.” Lyra ignored the interaction between the daemons. She took a sip of the hot chocolatl after all. “This is watery.”

“We don’t have to speak on him.” Agatha didn’t realize how desperate she was. A fear tugged around her heart that if this girl was to leave today, then she may never recover. She shouldn’t have responded to Lyra’s request. She should never have come. Agatha had survived the death of both of her children. Introducing herself to her granddaughter was a masochistic mistake. “Next time we’ll get off to a better start.”

“Maybe.”

Agatha would hold onto that “maybe” for roughly a month before her granddaughter reached back out to her again.

They met again this time at her residency. The tension in her granddaughter’s body as she walked through the doorway of a Belacqua residency. Her eyes were hungry as they moved over the portraits and the ornate decor of the home, not that any of it was worth anything anymore. It was still not lost on either one of them, that this very nearly could have been her home.

It did initially escape Agatha how foreign Lyra would feel in this house. The girl who she saw lounging lazily at the café suddenly had her arms tucked to her side. As they toured the home together Agatha attempted to describe the history of the things Lyra was seeing. She watched her granddaughter attempt to conceal her confusion at the lessons.

Agatha’s daemon whispered to her, “She’s not a replacement for him. You forget who she is. You forget who her mother was.”

“She’s family.”

“Lady Belacqua,” Lyra interrupted.

“You can call me Dadaji, if you like.”

Lyra sounded it out. It sounded heavy and clunky coming from her mouth.

“Or grandmother or Agatha. Whatever you prefer.”

“Is your name really Agatha? That doesn’t sound right.” Now this was the brash girl she met at their first meeting.

She smiled softly, “Since I stepped foot in Brytain.”

“Well how about before?”

Agatha pursed her lips, “Now this is a topic that _I_ don’t like speak on.”

There the blush returned to the girl’s cheeks again. Her quickness to embarrassment felt so in conflict to her boldness. It must be torture to contain the two simultaneously. Again, she felt the impulse to place her hand on Lyra’s forehead in delayed greeting. This time she followed through.

“I’m glad you wanted to meet again.”

Lyra looked up at her grandmother from underneath the hand, “Figured might as well. Are you checking for fever? I’m healthy, I promise.”

Agatha laughed, “Tell me, how’s your tutoring?”

“Much better now,” Lyra drifted off to examining the walls again. “Was this your husband?”

Lyra stood in front of a large portrait of a man dripping in finery. He held a sword in his hands as he looked out at the viewer with a withering gaze. Agatha noticed Lyra reach for her side before stretching her fingers wide and rubbing the palm.

“Yes, on our wedding day. Don’t let the look fool you, he wasn’t a particularly unkind figure. Though I suppose stoicism can be perceived that way.”

“Before you came here?”

“Yes. Before.”

“Can I see the sword? Do you still have it?”

“Well, no, Lyra I don’t have it anymore.”

Lyra was incredulous. “Why?”

A bitterness swelled in Agatha’s chest she had forgotten she had a habit of tending to. She spoke plainly and sharply. “What your parents did cost us all a great deal.”

The words were met with a soft puff. “You look to be managing fine.”

She knew she shouldn’t debase herself by attempting to pick a fight with a child. Especially one who had no say in the matter regarding the fallout of her birth. It was all too tempting, however, when no better option presented itself. She knows she has to be the mature one. She knows she made a mistake. She knows she should be kind to this girl because after all this is all that is left of her family.

But Agatha, no Maganendra, fought for more for her life. She was to keep her big house with a full staff. Her sons would grow to take on their aristocratic titles and marry well. The grandchildren would receive proper educations and speak the language of home with ease once Brytain was a safer place to do so. The home back in India that the family could return to yearly if they liked. The reality of being sent off in the dark to a strange place never to come back again. Having sons that grow up as bitter radicals in their own different ways who spend next to no time at visiting their mother. The elder not attending the meetings she set up with appropriate women, instead sneaking around who knows where with that Coulter woman. The younger not even bothering to show interest. Making fools of themselves. All of them, including Agatha. For scraps.

Still, that isn’t something you unload on your grandchild.

“Managing. Yes, I manage fine.” She breathed. “Are you ready to see the rest of the house?”

Lyra and Agatha would continue to meet on occasion. Agatha would travel to Jordan to check up on her. The girl never seemed quite within reach. A part of herself always obscured by shadow or perhaps too wild to be understood by most. It would cause awkward silences, strange looks, and knowing smiles she couldn’t decode. She would try to teach her granddaughter common phrases or customs, but Lyra continued to fail to hold the words well. Agatha thought perhaps she didn’t have a talent for languages. Her heart sank when she listened to the girl spout off perfect French to a scholar at the college.

It was food that they found some common ground. The girl had a voracious appetite and while she could hardly cook a sausage, she knew complex Indian recipes. In this topic, she was an eager student and very active in perfecting the process with her grandmother. Most of their better time spent together was in the kitchen.

During the holiday season of Lyra’s seventeenth year she would spend that part of the winter with her grandmother. They didn’t do anything extravagant. As Agatha said the first time they met, she never gained the habit of attention grabbing. Instead most nights would involve Agatha turning in early, while Lyra stayed up wandering the grounds. It would be good, looking back, that she got to have that sort of experience at least once.

One morning, Agatha caught Lyra hunched over some old photograms with tea steaming beside her.

“How many of those have you had, dear?”

Lyra looked up with bloodshot eyes, “Hm? Oh, I just made a fresh pot.”

“You’ll never get rest with that recipe. Your father used to make it so he could stay up all night.” Agatha braced herself for the usual shrug off from Lyra. The girl was true to her word that she didn’t enjoy talking about him, but with her eyes trained on a photogram of him as a boy, Agatha thought she might push the subject again.

Lyra shook her head, “Some things never change.”

“So, I can glean my son never learned to rest?”

“If he slept, no one ever witnessed it.”

The page Lyra flipped to contained photograms of Asriel the day he completed his degree at Jordan. A scowl was marked into his face. One would think he had flunked his exams. Agatha touched the picture affectionately.

“He was so serious,” she smiled, “which served him well, of course. Perhaps it’s nostalgia, but lately I’ve found myself missing the child that spent his days imagining worlds in his room. Still independent, maybe you would call it shy, but far more playful. I suppose he took everything to heart. What other people would say. He was very literal.”

“I don’t think it was a problem of being too literal.” Lyra sat up. “I think things were very clear for him. Obvious in a way that aren’t to most people. Things were or they weren’t. Necessary or unnecessary. Useful or useless. I don’t think I inherited that way of thinking. Sometimes I wish I had his certainty.”

It was an interesting theory and perhaps the first positive remark she heard the girl make about Asriel. “Do you think he resented those of us lost in the grey?”

Lyra began flipping through the pages faster, “I can’t be sure. Maybe he thought I was dim witted. Likely that. Feel sure that he didn’t like spending his time in the grey, at least. If he could help it. What do I know?”

Agatha put a hand on Lyra’s shoulder. Lyra let it stay.

She faked a laugh, “Everyone says I’m supposed to look like him.”

“You do.”

“I’m looking more and more like my mother.” Lyra looked up at Agatha. “I know it bothers you. That’s not what you were hoping for when we met.”

“Actually, I was quite struck by your similarities.” Agatha got up and started to leave the room. “I have the photos to prove it. Just a moment!”

Lyra sat there utterly confounded with her grandmother’s sudden burst of energy. She continued sipping her caffeine fueled tea and as flipped to the near end of the book. The book did not really end. Instead, the pages went blank. Empty space left for the anticipation of a wedding or what have you, cut off by a short sharp shock. Lyra took a breath.

Her grandmother reentered the room with a handful of badly frayed photograms.

“Flip back to the earlier pages. Age seven.”

Lyra did as she was told.

Agatha slapped down a photo of Lyra at age seven right by the photo of Asriel. “See? It’s practically the same face.”

Lyra flinched. It wasn’t the similarity that caught her off guard. She picked up the photogram of herself and flipped it over. “What’s this? Where did you get this?”

“Thorold gave them to me. Your father’s photograms.”

“Show me.” Lyra took the photos from her grandmother’s hands. She shuffled through them while flipping them over looking at the dates and notes furiously. “I didn’t know he had these.”

“Thorold returned to me Asriel’s items. Sparse haul. Only these photograms and a few of his old tools.”

The mood noticeably shifted in the room. Agatha briefly felt guilty, but at the same time it was as if she was watching just a small amount of weight leave her granddaughter’s shoulders. Pantalaimon crawled onto the counter to look at all of the images. He turned to Lyra and for the first time that Agatha witnessed, she took him into her arms and held him fiercely.

The Belacquas never had a knack for longevity. Before Lyra could turn twenty, she would say goodbye for the last time. Agatha died quietly and peacefully within the strong walls she worked so hard and sacrificed so much to protect. Lyra would be busy with her studies in another room in the house not even feeling the slight shift in the universe when the condor turned to Dust.


End file.
